


I'm here

by solveariddle



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solveariddle/pseuds/solveariddle
Summary: Do you want to know what was the exact moment that made me fall in love with you? // Norma's reflections on her relationship with Alex and some more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is different from my other Normero stories since it is written in first person from Norma's point of view. It also might be the most romantic piece I've ever written although it's definitely no fluff. In fact, I feel as if I should put a warning here. Maybe this: Bring tissues. Oh, and Alex is not in jail in this version of events.
> 
> One more thing: I know some of you might be waiting for an update of 'When the war is over', but this one-shot begged to be written first. Sorry. My muse will obediently return to my other story now so that I can provide you with an update as soon as possible.
> 
> Disclaimer: Bates Motel belongs to A&E. They are just kind enough to let me borrow some of the wonderful characters they created from time to time so that I can play around with them a bit.

Sometimes I wonder what was the exact moment that made you fall in love with me. You mentioned once that you had been smitten with me ever since you had questioned me about Keith Summers' disappearance on my front porch. You know, that day when you implied and I inferred or something like that. Honestly? I thought you were exaggerating to flatter me when you told me that because I had received no vibe whatsoever from you at that time that would have suggested you were even remotely interested in me. Instead you tried to intimidate me, threatened me, as a matter of fact arrested me later on. Then again, you are the master of hiding your emotions. I want to ask you about it, there is so much I still don't know about you, but I have no idea how.

So maybe you had a thing for me back then already or not. I feel certain, though, that you were beginning to fall for me when I patched you up in my kitchen. I was playing it cool, but at that very moment when you got lost in my eyes, I knew. Call me smug, however I learned at a young age that my looks were something that gave me power over others, especially men. So what if I got better grades because I flirted with my teacher or didn't have to pay for the one or other item in the grocery store because they knew our parents had no money and couldn't resist my sad expression? Life is a cesspool. When you have nothing and no one to rely on, you learn to rely on yourself and to deploy what you have. But I digress. The point being that all I had ever done in life had been trying to survive, to move forward, to never give up because there had been no one to help me. Until I met you. When you looked at me  _like that_  in my kitchen, I thought you were drawn to me because of my appearance like all men. It took me a while to understand that there was more to it. So much more.

And here is the thing. People have been telling me how beautiful I am all my life, complimenting me on my mesmerizing eyes, but I never saw beauty or anything special when I looked in the mirror. All I saw was a lifetime of struggle. How could I accept who I was, what I looked like when my brother called me beautiful when he took advantage of me, raped me even? This is one of the many things I've never told you: It was you who made me believe in myself. Every man before you had only been nice to score with me, and once they'd achieved that, violence was waiting just around the corner. It doesn't matter how pretty you are when your husband hits you or abuses you. Bruises and fractures are a universal language that doesn't care about appearances. So I only believed I was beautiful, worthy of being loved when I saw it in your eyes.

Do you want to know what was the exact moment that made me fall in love with you? You probably think it was our wedding because I'm quite sure the adoring look I gave you when you showed up with this beautiful ring of your mother couldn't be misinterpreted. I was overwhelmed. If it hadn't been for the whole Norman disaster and the fact that I was completely out of it, I would have cried then and there. That's how happy I was or rather would have been if the world had been a better place in general. But I digress again. There are so many memories I love to revisit. In fact it was earlier, much earlier, that I fell in love with you even if I've only realized that in hindsight.

Remember the night when I came to you and told you about that stupid flash drive, wanted you to go to Bob Paris with me so I could blackmail him? Yeah, that was the night that brought us so close together that our lives have been inevitably linked from then on. It's fitting, don't you think? Emotional bonding in the midst of yelling about rape and kidnapping and death. I was so angry because you thought my plan to blackmail Bob Paris was a bad idea. But when I completely freaked out, you held me, just held me. It wasn't even a real embrace, merely nearness. Your way of letting me know you were there for me even if you were disapproving of my intentions. You held me until I calmed down and something sank in, something nameless that was so much bigger than us. Something that made me actually hate you when you handed the flash drive over to the DEA because I trusted you and it felt like the betrayal it was meant to be. I know, I know, you were only trying to protect yourself from me although it was already too late. Let alone that you made more than up for it afterwards. We were so afraid to fall in love with each other, weren't we?

In the end it was that something between us, love of course, but its name unspoken at that time, that made me come to you and propose for insurance. That throwaway line about offering to sleep with you? It was easy for me to say it because I knew you were the only man who would never take me up on that offer against my will. And even when I wanted to sleep with you, very obviously so, you made triple sure that this wasn't a mistake I would regret later. You were right not to trust me because it  _was_  the wrong moment and the wrong reason. As good as the sex had been, I  _did_ regret it the next morning, if only because it complicated things even more. Or at least I thought so. However you sensed my confusion and reluctance and gave me space and time to come to terms with things my way. And as much as I had wanted out before, a reflex more than anything else, suddenly all I wanted was in.

Memories are a tricky thing. You twist and turn them in your mind until you can no longer be sure whether it is the truth or a figment of your imagination. This I know though: That evening at the Winter Lights Festival was perfect. You couldn't stop looking at me, couldn't stop smiling. We danced and I felt invincible. I was sure nothing and no one would be able to tear us apart. Ever. I didn't tell you then and there, just smiled back at you as we danced and you held me close. There is so much I've never told you. We always think we have more time.

Such as how grateful I am that you have always protected me and my family. Did I ever say thank you for that? I don't think so, at least not with words. I hope you felt it in every embrace, every kiss, every moment we made love.  _I always felt safe when you were here._  That's the essence of it all. I was safe as long as you were with me. And the moment I pushed you away, I wasn't anymore.

We were afraid to fall in love because love makes you vulnerable. I'm sorry for doing that to you. So sorry. Watching you grieve has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my entire life or… well… whatever this is now. You are sitting at your kitchen table, drinking Scotch as you have been doing every night since... I don't even know how many nights in a row. I stopped counting.

The more the alcohol blurs your thoughts, the more you think about it. Killing my son. Part of me blames you for it – some things never change, no matter what happened – but part of me understands. I always thought I'd be the link to hold the three of us together, regardless of how impossible that seemed to be. It never occurred to me that I couldn't be part of this equation anymore one day. The uncomfortable truth is: We both killed, my son is a murderer, and in the end, death is awaiting all of us.

However this, right here is not about him. This is about us. My hands hover over your shoulders so that I can sense all of you. Your love, your grief, your despair. I can't take the pain away from you, no matter how much I want to. I'd give my life to make you feel better. It would be ironic if it wasn't so sad because the hurt you exude is unbearable. Your mother's suicide, your father's prison sentence, your wife's death.  _My death_. No one should suffer that much.

So I'm waiting for the moment that will make it all better and tonight it comes sooner than usual. You don't bother with going to bed, drop off on your couch instead. I let my hands rest on your chest. It's one of the things no one tells you about the other side. Even if you can't feel me, at least not when you're awake, I can still feel you. You are wearing the same leather jacket I loved to bury my nose in because its scent is so essentially you. You're sleeping now. Not even your dreams are safe anymore, a haunted place filled with torment. Not for long, however, because this is the only place where I can reach you and make things better. I rest my head on your chest and feel your breathing calm down as my thoughts mingle with what you believe is your dream. And then I let your remember the good times, how much we loved each other and always will whether I'm here or not.

I'm grieving, too. Your pain is my unfinished story. There are higher powers that want me to leave, but I can't, not as long as you suffer like that. So for now I am here, my love, and will stay as long as you need me.

The End(...or is it?)

**Author's Note:**

> PS: If there are any typos or other mistakes, it's mainly because I've been crying the entire time while I typed this.


End file.
